It is without a doubt the best sports car Ferrari has ever made—perhaps the best sports car of any manufacturer. You could really take it to a track, win races, and then drive home.
So wrote the legendary Sir Stirling Moss—one of the men who played a major role in the many victories credited to the 250 GT Short Wheel Base Berlinetta—in his book My Cars, My Career. Moss’ words reinforced my own feeling that this Ferrari is one of the most desirable automobiles ever, a feeling vigorously stoked by the many times I have seen SWBs racing: at full throttle with open exhausts during the Coppa d’Italia, in full four-wheel drifts at Spa and Goodwood, screaming down the straight at Zandvoort, and so on.
More so, the mere sight of an SWB is captivating. That long bonnet, the beautifully defined muscular flanks, the superbly balanced proportions, the way it combines the fighting spirit of a racer with the style of a Gran Turismo—it is all equally exquisite. I even prefer this restrained and subtle machine to its successor, the provocative but somewhat exaggerated 250 GTO.
And now, at the Police Training Circuit in Lelystad, The Netherlands, I finally have the opportunity to drive an SWB—and not just any SWB. S/n 1849GT is a very original Competizione version from 1960, which recently won its class at the Concours d’Elegance Paleis Het Loo. It’s unclear exactly how many SWBs Ferrari built, but many experts seem to put the figure at 165 production cars, of which 75 were Competiziones, intended for buyers who planned to drive considerably more on racing circuits than on public roads.
The lighter Competizione featured, among other things, a more powerful engine and an all-aluminum body (designed by Pininfarina and built by Scaglietti). The “regular” model, called the Lusso, made do with a steel body, although with aluminum doors, hood, and trunk lid. It goes without saying that the Competizione is more sought after than the Lusso.
The SWB was developed by Carlo Chiti, Giotto Bizzarrini, and Mauro Forghieri, and its primary reason for existence was motorsport. Specifically for this purpose, the wheelbase was shortened by 20 centimeters (roughly eight inches) compared to its predecessor, the 250 GT Tour de France, for improved agility on track.
Impressively, this was achieved without compromising its capability as a GT. After all, the SWB existed at a time when the best Gran Turismos had a dual nature. You drove it to the track, unloaded the luggage, stuck numbers on the doors and tape over the headlights, and went racing. Afterwards, you collected the trophy, loaded the luggage and your girlfriend into the car, and drove home. It’s a pity those days are over.
S/N 1849 SPENT THE FIRST FIVE YEARS of its existence driving around in Italy, hence the Roman license plate. It was hardly used for competition, except for the occasional hillclimb, making it one of the few SWBs to have survived its life without damage…which is not to say that it remained unscathed in every respect.
In 1968, it moved to the USA, and in ’72 it came into the hands of a certain John Andrews, reportedly a brilliant man who was successful in the aerospace industry during the 1970s. Andrews was a collector who never threw anything away, was crazy about fast cars, and had the habit of tearing from Moreno Valley to Los Angeles before dawn to avoid rush hour. Over the years, he apparently developed into a somewhat eccentric figure, a description perhaps reflected in his decision to have the SWB’s dashboard painted in psychedelic colors. At some point, as was his way when he was done with a car, Andrews parked the Ferrari in one of his many storage facilities.
In 1994, FORZA market guru Michael Sheehan purchased the partially disassembled Ferrari. Fortunately, all the parts had been kept by Andrews, and were stored in boxes next to and inside the car. The SWB was otherwise damage-free, aside from a small dent in a rear fender, and Sheehan restored the Ferrari to top condition on behalf of its next owner, Reza Rashidian.
Subsequently, in 1999, s/n 1849 moved into the hands of Dutch collector Henk Koel, who had had an SWB on his wish list for a very long time.
“When I sold part of my company, the opportunity finally arose to fulfill my heart’s desire,” Koel recalls. “At the time, the Ferrari was at DK Engineering in England, which was tasked with selling it on behalf of Rashidian. I went there to take a look with my brother, Nico. We had been told beforehand that the seller considered it important who the car was sold to; it had to be an enthusiast. Nico and I did not meet the selling owner ourselves, but when we viewed the car, someone stood observing us from the balustrade the entire time. It turned out, in hindsight, that was Reza.”
Although all SWBs look the same at first glance, there are actually quite a few differences between the cars. Some have bumpers, others do not, the brake-cooling vents at the bottom of the nose differ in shape, and there are quite a few more details like that.
S/n 1849 is a “small” SWB—those from the first production years are actually a little bit smaller than the later ones. They also have a slightly different grille, and the side windows in the upper right corner have a different shape. The rear window is also smaller, with a cooling vent in the Perspex; in later versions, this is located in the roof.
The cockpit is surprisingly spacious for its occupants. However, there is no room behind the seats for luggage—not even in the trunk, which is largely filled by the spare wheel, the 26.4-gallon fuel tank with its thick filler neck, and the large beautifully gleaming quick-release jack. Those bucket seats, by the way, are upholstered in black vinyl.
“Some owners opt for leather when doing a restoration, but that isn’t how it should be,” notes Koel. “All Competiziones were delivered with faux leather.”
Ahead of the large wood-rimmed steering wheel sits a very complete dashboard—now fortunately painted in the original black wrinkle paint— with two large Veglia gauges, the size of soup bowls, dead ahead. On the left sits the tachometer, which reads up to 8,000 rpm (there’s no redline marked), and on the right resides a speedometer that tops out at 300 km/h. Five smaller gauges in the center of the dash track the water and oil temperatures, oil pressure, fuel level, and the passage of time.
Koel has already warmed up all the fluids during our motion photography session, and also infused some heat into the Dunlop Racing rubber, size 6.00 front and 6.50 rear.
The Ferrari sits on 16-inch Borrani wire wheels, as it should. For driving on regular roads, where the Dunlops are not permitted, he prefers 15-inch wheels with Michelin XWX tires, size 215/70-15.
I TURN, THEN PUSH, THE IGNITION KEY and pump the throttle. The three twin Weber carburetors immediately do their work; the mixture ignites, and the twelve cylinders come to life in lightning-fast succession.
The SWB utilizes a strongly oversquare 3-liter V12, with a bore of 73 mm and a stroke of 58.8 mm. The steel-bodied Lusso models received the Tipo 168, its 9.2:1 compression ratio and three 36 DCL Webers delivering 240 hp and 193 lb-ft of torque. The Competizione featured the Tipo 168B under the hood, with 9.5:1 compression and larger 40 DCL6 carbs; these often drew in air via a cold-air chamber connected to the slot in the hood, thereby accounting for more torque and 280 hp.
Ferrari also produced an extreme version of the 168B, the 168 Comp/61. This V12 featured an oil pan, camshaft covers, and several other parts made of an electron alloy, along with special lightweight pistons, stronger connecting rods (due to a higher 9.7:1 compression ratio), and wilder camshafts, allowing them to develop an additional 10-15 hp. The SWBs equipped with these engines, the so-called SEFAC hot rods, also featured a lighter chassis and a body made of almost paper-thin aluminum. (SEFAC stood for Società Esercizio Fabbriche Automobili e Corse, Ferrari’s official company name after a restructuring in 1960.)
The 168 Comp/61 V12 greets you with a brutal explosion of power at 5,500 rpm, but below that it is rather temperamental and barely drivable on the road. While the SEFAC cars are seen by some as the ultimate SWB, that is debatable—they are pure racers, and as a manifestation of the road-racer phenomenon, the Competizione is a much more successful achievement.
Although the Competizione’s V12 is admittedly a much friendlier machine than that found in the SEFAC hot rods, it does not deny its combative nature; it responds very quickly to the accelerator and sounds beautiful and melodious. The metallic sounds of the 24 valves and two camshafts give its exhaust an aggressive tone, but as soon as the needle rises, it becomes warmer and more homogeneous. It is wonderful to finally drive such a long-coveted Ferrari, to look out over the dashboard and that long hood, and to feel the greedy insistence of the V12.
The straight section of the Police Training Circuit is long enough to rev the V12 high. It’s smooth and docile in the lower rev range, but as soon as I push above 4,000 rpm, the engine notices that its cage has been opened and the beast inside goes on the attack with a deep growl. It sounds increasingly magnificent as it gets closer to the imaginary red line, and at around 7,500 rpm the SWB pulls its nose up slightly and presses my back firmly into the seat.
S/n 1849’s clutch is not light, but neither is it excessively heavy, and the gear lever clicks easily into place. The open shift gate we later came to consider so typical of Ferrari did not exist back then; the gear lever simply protrudes from a leather sleeve. More important, the lever is perfectly positioned; when I let my hand drop from the wheel, I have it in my grasp.
Upshifts are smooth and fluid, the mandatory movements tightly defined and pleasantly mechanical. And when it’s time to downshift through the synchronized gearbox, a blip of rev-matching sounds wonderful and is so easy to do—the accelerator pedal is positioned so I can neatly catch it with the edge of my right foot while braking.
The large steering wheel fits well in my hands. It requires little force, and the Ferrari responds very precisely. In fact, the car surprises me with its agility, as well as the remarkably good way in which it communicates. I feel exactly what is happening beneath me, through my back, backside, and hands. Every bump is transmitted, and when I steer a bit harder through the corners, I can feel how the tread of the Dunlop rubber “sets.”
The SWB’s chassis is surprisingly simple, especially at the rear, where a rigid rear axle is kept in check by only the leaf springs, with the friendly assistance of two trailing arms. With such a powerful car, I expect the rear to move slightly during acceleration or hard engine braking, but that’s not the case here. The car corners tightly and confidently, and does not allow itself to be thrown off balance by unexpected corrections through the steering wheel or accelerator.
The Competizione is beautifully balanced, with no pronounced tendency towards understeer or oversteer. It feels nicely neutral, and I now understand why I’ve seen so many—on the relatively narrow Dunlop rubber—hunting around circuits in beautiful four-wheel drifts. That not only appears to be the fastest method, it also seems where Ferrari is most in its element, and perhaps has even been tuned for it by the factory.
There’s nothing to fault regarding the brakes, either. Ferrari was late to switch to discs, but fortunately the SWB is equipped with them, also manufactured by Dunlop. They shed speed well, the car staying perfectly level, but I do have to floor the pedal if I want to slow down quickly from higher speeds.
The longer I drive, the more the SWB confirms what a fantastic machine it is, and so very satisfying, as well. There’s nothing that disappoints or detracts from the myth. Brakes, handling, steering, that V12 singing so gloriously everywhere—it’s all wonderfully harmonious.
Listing all of the SWB’s racing successes would take far too long, but a few should not go unmentioned, including its outstanding performances at Le Mans. In 1960, SWBs won their class (GT 3.0) overwhelmingly, which was not so surprising as they had it practically to themselves, and one of them crossed the finish line in fourth overall. In 1961, the year before they handed the baton to the 250 GTO, they repeated that impressive feat, winning their class and, this time, the fastest one finished third overall.
It could have been even better in ’61, wrote Stirling Moss in My Cars, My Career. “[Graham Hill and I] averaged 190 km/h in the first hour and a half, screaming down the Mulsanne Straight at 7,700 rpm. The car felt fantastic. After 21 laps, my best time was 4 minutes and 8 seconds, and by evening, we were in third position overall, and miles ahead in the GT category.”
At one point, their Competizione was even ahead of the 250 TR prototype of Willy Mairesse and Mike Parkes, which would eventually finish second. Unfortunately, Moss and Hill retired because the team had neglected to remove the cooling fan, which was superfluous during the race. Due to the persistently high revs, a fan blade broke off, severing a water hose, with disastrous consequences for the V12.
Even more impressive than its Le Mans record is that SWBs won the gruelling Tour de France three times. With its combination of hillclimbs and circuit races, it was the most versatile automotive event on the calendar at the time, a road race in the truest sense of the word. In 1960, SWBs swept the first three places. In ’61, they finished first through fourth. And in ’62, an SWB took the win—with three 250 GTOs behind it. This gives extra credence to Moss’ claim of the SWB being the best sports car Ferrari ever made—without a doubt.
